


Go To Sleep And Dream Of Oblivious Middle-Aged Caregivers Who Secretly Love Each Other

by anxietycheesecake



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Baby Warlock Dowling, Co-workers, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Long-Distance Relationship, Phone Calls & Telephones, They're real people not Crowley and Aziraphale, for now, they're soft, yes they will fuck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-17 20:42:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29972028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anxietycheesecake/pseuds/anxietycheesecake
Summary: She's in an hotel room by herself in a foreign country, the baby won't stop crying and there's only one person who can help.
Relationships: Nanny Ashtoreth & Warlock Dowling & Brother Francis, Nanny Ashtoreth/Brother Francis (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, yes, I know, I should update my wips, including (and most importantly) THSBTN. Believe me, I've been working on it and the next chapter is almost finished, but it involves lots of edging and I'm honestly so over it lol. I also recently moved to a semi-shitty house (not as shitty as you think, but still a devastating downgrade) and debt it's still biting us in our ass. For more info (and very important stuff) find me on Twitter as datcheesycake. I'd be forever grateful if you... eh, went there. Meanwhile, I'll leave you with some self-indulging bs after my original self-indulging bs became too much to handle when I'm in a self-indulgent mood. Thank you so much for reading! (this fic won't be too long, it's a rather laid-back simple story, so don't worry) <3

‘What am I doing?’ she grunted at least three times before actually taking the phone. She had danced around the obvious solution for two hours, trying everything that came to mind _twice_ , telling herself it was because long distance calls were far more expensive than they should be —even if she wasn’t the one paying the hotel— and it should be five in the morning in London.

Well, now it was almost midnight, she needed — _deserved_ — a rest and it was seven o’clock at home, so that lazy man should be up or she’d have something to blackmail him with if he wanted to accuse her of not being capable of handling a crying baby.

Rocking Warlock in her lap, she put the phone against her ear and waited.

“Hello?” came the voice.

“Hello, Brother Francis, it’s Nanny Ashtoreth,” she said, and heard a strange noise on the other end. “Did you knock something over?”

“N-no, no! It must be… eh, the storm.”

“A storm?”

“A terrible storm.”

“Why can’t I hear it now?”

“If I’m allowed an assumption, um, maybe you’re so used to them you can’t—” Warlock began to cry even louder and she cringed, rocking him with more intention. “Oh, my, what are you doing to that poor child?”

“Oh, what haven’t I done. He seems to be in an awful mood. It’s been two hours and I’m afraid he won’t let me sleep at all. I’ve tried every single thing in the book—”

“Did you check his diaper?”

She was certain he could hear her deadpan.

“Satan, how didn’t I think about that?”

As if he understood her sarcasm and didn’t appreciate it, Warlock’s screams grew intense beyond what she thought possible.

“Alright, let me think,” Francis muttered. “Uh, my mother used to say sometimes babies cry for no reason, just to get air out of their lungs or somethin’…”

“But Warlock never cries for no reason,” she replied after an instant of doubt. “Let alone at this time of the day. He has a wonderful sleep schedule, thank the dark Lord.”

They both sighed in unison and went silent, reconsidering every potential explanation for the boy’s tantrum. She was worrying that the communication might have been interrupted when Francis spoke again:

“Maybe he misses home.”

“Please, missing—” She interrupted her sardonic counterargument. “That’s… that’s actually plausible.”

“Isn’t this the first time he leaves England?”

“Yes! And he spent the whole flight crying as well.”

“And his mother is nowhere in sight, is she?”

“You know she isn’t.”

They sighed once more, but this time, it was out of relief.

“Well, then you only need to make him feel at home. Why don’t you call his parents?”

“Francis, back at home he spends more time with us than them.”

She could almost see him pout, moved by the bureaucratic negligence Warlock was condemned to. Harriet Dowling wasn’t a bad woman and Nanny Ashtoreth liked her way more than most of her previous clients, but privilege and an unfulfilling marriage did some awful things to people. She loved her son and believed she could buy him anything he needed, often ignoring that he only needed her to be his mother. Thaddeus Dowling wasn’t even worth mentioning; he made them all fly to Washington D. C. just so he could pay them no attention in the same country.

Nanny Ashtoreth knew how it would end for Warlock if they didn’t… what did the American say? Get their shit together. However, it was a problem from the future and she wouldn’t be there to see the consequences. She could only hope Brother Francis would stay at the Dowling household enough to make sure he turned into a… more or less decent human being.

“Put him on the phone.”

“What?”

“I’d like to talk to him. Put him on the phone, please.”

“He’s a baby.”

“What do you have to lose? It won’t make him cry any harder.”

She groaned and pressed the speakerphone button.

“There you go.”

Francis cleared his throat a couple times before starting, which made her roll her eyes.

“Um, well, hello, young Warlock,” he greeted in his sweetest tone, which made her roll her eyes again. “It’s Brother Francis, remember? I take care of your house’s garden. You really like it when I cut off the dead leaves.”

Warlock’s sobs decreased, but didn’t fully stop. Not yet.

“I heard you’re not feeling well. I… Nanny and I think you might be missing home, is that the case?”

Warlock wasn’t crying anymore, although his mouth was trembling and his eyes were wet.

“That’s okay, I miss home sometimes, too. But you’re not alone, are you? You’re with your parents… eh, more or less. And you’ve got your nanny, who is a very lovely person and I can’t imagine someone better to be with.”

Only then it occurred to her that he might not know he was on speakerphone. A shame telling him now would mean making a big deal about it instead of correcting it. Perhaps it wasn’t just Francis’ reassuring words, but also the guilty blush that appeared on her face, what made Warlock laugh and yawn.

“That’s a nice sound, isn’t it?” Francis chuckled.

“It’s a wonderful change.”

“Now that he’s sleepy, you should sing for him.”

She frowned.

“With… with you on the line?”

“Er, yes? Maybe we shouldn’t hung up ‘til we make sure he’s sleepin’.”

“No, no, you’re right. I…” It was her turn to clear her throat. “Okay, but you’re not allowed to make fun of me.”

“I could never.”

And he didn’t. As she reluctantly sang the usual lullaby, he listened in religious silence, and the only obstacle was her own hesitancy to be heard.

“That was an even nicer sound,” Francis said dreamily once it was over.

Nanny Ashtoreth didn’t reply and looked down at the child on her lap.

“He’s out.”

“Ah, how great!” Francis exclaimed in quiet celebration.

She pressed the speakerphone button one last time and put the phone back to her ear, standing up to lay Warlock down in his crib.

“Well, we did it,” she whispered, walking back to her bed. “I suppose I should thank you.”

“Oh, there’s no need, you managed it all very well with your beautiful singing and everything.”

“I couldn’t even make him stop. It was humiliating.”

“Ms. Ashtoreth, just because you’re a… more than excellent nanny, it doesn’t mean you have to deal with everything on your own. It’s alright to ask for help. I ask for help all the time!”

“Yes.” She grinned. “I wish you would ask for help more often. What you do to those rosebushes is criminal.”

Francis giggled shamelessly.

“There’s the Ms. Ashtoreth I know.”

Her smirk slowly vanished.

“Still, thank you for lending a hand.”

“Don’t mention it, dearie. See, if you’re taking care of young Warlock all day and all night, who’ll take care of you?”

‘You will’, she thought, but stopped herself from saying it.

“I believe you should get some rest now,” he concluded. “There, in America, it’s almost midnight, isn’t it?”

She looked at the watch on the bedside table.

“Half past twelve.”

“Then you should really get some rest. If I know you and Mr and Mrs Dowling well enough, I’d say you’ve been working yourself to exhaustion today or… yesterday?”

“I would say so.”

“Go to sleep, dear,” he insisted, his tone softening.

“I’m scared he’s going to wake up.”

“I wish I was there to keep an eye on him.”

That made Nanny Ashtoreth’s heart react in a strange way that she chose not to think about for a fraction of a second. A tired smile bloomed on her lips.

“You’re always looking after everyone, aren’t you?”

“Just the people I really care about,” he clarified, and she could swear he sounded nervous.

“Like Warlock.”

A pause.

“For example.”

“Goodnight, Brother Francis.”

“Goodnight, Ms. Ashtoreth.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two nights later, she calls him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn, writing about characters being exhausted while being exhausted yourself is... exhausting af. As always, you can cheer me up by finding me on Twitter as datcheesycake 7u7. Also, please leave comments. I really appreciate them and they're the only thing that truly keeps me going. So, leave some and enjoy the chapter (not necessarily in that order... ofc) <3

She didn’t call him until two nights after that. It wasn’t that Warlock didn’t cry himself to exhaustion —he absolutely did, and she rocked him way into the dawn—, but the fact she didn’t want to bother Francis again. Well, not exactly. She didn’t want to admit she needed his help again, which should, by extension, bother him…

Oh, who was she fooling? That man was impossible to bother. She could tell him to walk on fire and he would ask her what footwear he should wear… Not because it was _her_ , of course. Anyone could. Nothing special, he was just a good Christian, whatever that really meant. They didn’t even interact that often.

But it had been two nights, it was almost twelve and Warlock was screaming his lungs off. She knew she couldn’t take much longer. She liked to see herself as a strong woman, capable of handling any situation, no matter how tough it seemed, but at the end of the day she was as human as everyone else and her body required eight hours of sleep. She haven’t even gotten one.

“Forgive me for what I’m about to do,” she whispered to herself on the mirror, before walking back to the bed and grabbing the phone from the bedside table.

He took his time to answer tonight. Maybe he was still sleeping and she was in fact bothering him. Maybe…

“H-hello?” he said at last. He sounded almost as tired as she felt.

“Brother Francis, it’s me… once more.”

“Ah, Ms Ashtoreth!” His voice was suddenly filled with polite excitement. “So good to hear from you, under equally good circumstances, I hope.”

“I’m afraid not.” Warlock’s screams increased. “As you can probably hear.”

“Oh, poor thing. Is he in a bad mood again?”

“He never left that bad mood,” she sighed. “Can you calm him down?”

“Let me see what I can do.”

What happened next was… more or less the same thing that happened two nights ago, minus her singing —was she _that_ tired?—. She found herself on the verge of falling asleep on Francis’ soft words once the child quieted.

“Okay,” she sentenced a few minutes later. “I think he’s ready to go to bed.”

“I think you’re ready to go to bed, too,” Francis chuckled, and then he got all serious and empathetic, as if she deserved the same level of concern as a damn baby. “Dearie, you sound positively exhausted.”

“I am,” she admitted with a defeated, ironic smile.

“It’s been that long of a day?”

“The longest of my entire life… Seventy two hours.”

“Oh, my… You mean… You haven’t sleep since the last time we talked?”

“Warlock wouldn’t let me.” She looked at the harmless, peaceful little beast she just had put in his crib. “He still misses home, it seems.”

“Why didn’t you call?”

Nanny Ashtoreth shrugged.

“I didn’t want to bother you.”

“Bother me?” he huffed, an uncharacteristic reaction to get from him. “Ms Ashtoreth, what gave you the impression that you could do anything to bother me? You could ask me to walk on fire—”

“And you would ask me what shoes to wear?”

“Well, y-yes!” He cleared his throat and added, under his breath: “it’s the Christian thing to do, isn’t it?”

“I suppose. I’m not a very Christian person.”

“Still, you should call me every time you need help. Even… even at three in the morning. Even if I have to jump on a plane…”

“Alright, I understand, you’re going to Heaven and I am not.”

“It’s not about Heaven,” he told her, solemn. “I know you believe I only care about young Warlock, but… I’m pretty bond of you, as well.”

“You barely know me,” she chuckled, rolling her eyes.

“I’ve seen enough, trust me. You… you care about a lot of stuff. You care about him.”

“I do care about my job.”

She was certain Francis didn’t believe her, that he didn’t consider it that simple and that he refused to accept he saw things that didn’t exist in that woman he only knew by sight. However…

“You should get some rest, anyway. How long will you be in America?”

“A month, by the look of it.”

“Then listen here, I’ll tell you what we’re gonna do: when you’re back, you’re going to come to my cottage in my day off, you’ll leave Warlock with me and you’ll take it as your personal day off.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“It’s abusive.”

“No, it isn’t. It would be… it would be a favour.”

She frowned.

“And how am I supposed to return it?”

She heard unidentified objects —perhaps glass or porcelain— crashing against the floor on the other side of the line. She also heard him choke. She paid no attention to any of those things.

“Oh, you don’t have… I mean… eh… You really don’t have to, dearie. I shouldn’t have used that word.”

“I’m so sorry, Francis, but now you’ve put the idea in my mind.”

“Eh, alright then…” He sighed. “Okay, you can repay me by… sleeping extra well tonight, yeah? And call me every time you need help, no exemptions.”

“That doesn’t sound fair.”

“It’s the… Christian thing to do.”

She remained silent, not very convinced. The playfulness in his tone was palpable when he added:

“I’m trying to get to Heaven, remember?”

Nanny Ashtoreth never giggled, but at that moment, she did. Of course it was because she was too tired to think, mind you. The sole concept of her giggling at anything the gardener said just for the sake of it was absurd.

“Goodnight, Francis.”

“Goodnight, Ms Ashtoreth.”


End file.
